


Trust

by there_must_be_a_lock



Series: Marked [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: Chapter 9 of Marked, from Dean's perspective: letting someone else call the shots for a night.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Series: Marked [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517636
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	Trust

I see blood whenever I close my eyes.

I see blood, and I hear the sick wet sound of my fist hitting broken flesh, over and over again like a pulse in my ears. The Mark is throbbing in time with it.

I want to claw my way out of my skin, rip and tear and peel it away. I can’t stand being in my body right now.

I get in the car and I start driving.

I barely notice where I’m going, but somehow, I realize, I’m driving to her. And that’s not what we do. That’s not who I am to her, I’m not the person who just shows up asking for help, I shouldn’t do that to her, but suddenly I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

I don’t know how the fuck she came into my life and I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing with me, but I would’ve racked up one hell of a body count, by now, if she hadn’t. It’s the only thing that helps these days. When I’m wound so tight I think I might explode, when I’ve been holding it together for so long it’s fucking painful, I go to her. She takes my anger, all my nasty dark impulses, and she looks up at me with her mouth swollen and her eyes desperate and she begs me to lose control. It’s not what the Mark wants, not exactly; it’s not like I’m really hurting her, it’s not the same as a kill, but there’s something about that animalistic drive, fighting or fucking, adrenaline and violence… close enough, I guess.

She begs, and she likes it, and it feels so fucking good, so fucking good, to just give in, lash out, make her scream, and then to see her smiling, after. For a moment, I don’t have to feel guilty about doing exactly what I want to do. For a moment I don’t have to feel guilty about who I am and what I need. She likes it. I didn’t believe her, at first, when she told me how much she liked it, but… god, she gets so wet, and the way she smiles when I sink my teeth into her… fuck if I can figure out why she likes it, but she does. 

Usually I tear her apart, break her down, let myself lose control. Tonight, it’s already lost. I’m already so fucking lost.

My hands start shaking when she picks up the phone. They don’t stop shaking until she opens the door.

She’s smiling. She’s happy to see me. She shouldn’t be happy to see me, but she is.

And now that I’m here… fuck, now what? She’s pouring me a drink, smiling soft and sweet, and I can’t imagine hurting her, right now. I don’t want to hurt anybody except maybe myself.

She leads me to her room. I drink. I wish I could drink myself into a blackout right now, but booze doesn’t seem to hit the same way these days.

At least I don’t have to pretend. If I were with Sam, or any-fucking-body else, I’d have to pretend. Somehow, with her, it’s okay to just sit here, and drink, and be lost.

That’s one of the things I love about her. She’s a little lost too. She’s all steel and fire, inside, and once she figures out where she’s going, she’ll be unstoppable, but right now she’s just… a little lost. 

I tell her: “I did something bad.”

She doesn’t run away from me. She should run, but she doesn’t. I guess we’re the same kind of stupid.

“What do you want?” she asks, and I don’t know what to say. I shrug. She looks at me, with a curious little wrinkle in her forehead, and she says: “You want me to tell you.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, before I can even think about it, and when I hear myself say it I realize it’s true. 

“You sure?”

Tonight I’d rather have someone else in charge; I don’t trust myself to make the decisions right now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. Just… no restraints, or anything. Otherwise… I trust you.”

It’s scary, how true it is. There aren’t many people I trust like that. I see her shoulder that weight, watch her jaw settle into that determined angle I love so much.

“Take off your clothes and lie down,” she says firmly.

That’s easy enough. I obey and I wait.

“Hold on to one of the bars in the headboard. Don’t let go.”

There’s something comforting about letting her call the shots, knowing nobody’s looking to me for decisions I shouldn’t be allowed to make. I like being able to lie here and just wait, watching while she strips down. She turns around to take off her jeans, and I get to watch the smooth curve of her ass, the jiggle when she shimmies the denim down her thighs.

She crawls up the bed toward me. She’s fucking gorgeous. I want to get my hands all over her skin. I love the way she looks when I’m done with her, covered in bite-shaped bruises, fingerprints all over, covered in me.

She kneels over me, gives me one hell of a view, and I want to grab and bite and mark her up. But I don’t get what I want, not tonight.

Her touch is gentle. Her touch is so gentle it makes me want to squirm away.

She asks if I’m okay, which… sure, I’m as okay as I could be, I guess. I nod. She kisses me, and I’m getting hard just from the smell of her. It feels like I’m high when she touches me.

She whispers, “Just tell me if you need to stop.”

She sits back on her heels and looks at me, and I wonder what she’s seeing.

“Don’t let go,” she says again. “And don’t make any noise.”

If that’s what she wants, I can do it.

She settles herself between my legs, leans forward like she’s going to suck me, but instead she kisses my stomach. I feel the tickle of her tongue running down my stomach.

She lets me feel the scrape of her fingernails, just a taste, and I can’t stop staring. She’s so fucking hot like this. She’s smiling up at me through her lashes, kittenish and coy with her mouth poised right over my cock, and the sight of her is just… fuck.

She scratches me for real this time. I’m not used to lying still and just letting someone hurt me.

Her tongue is so soft on the scratches. She blows on them, cool and soothing, and I feel it through my whole body.

This time she sucks me into her mouth while she scratches, and oh, god, the flash of pain with the pleasure is so fucking good. Too many nerve endings are crying out all at once and they’re all I can think about, and it’s enough to get me out of my head for a second. I forget myself, thrust up hard, and I want to cry when she pulls away.

She pinches me, as a punishment. It’s like everything in me sinks down into that one point of hot, bright pain, like the rest of it disappears, and when she starts using her mouth again I focus on the residual sting, reminding myself to behave. She’s just running the tip of her tongue around the base of my cock, over my balls, and I’m starting to shake, starting to feel like I’m going to fucking lose it if I don’t get to fuck her soon.

“Being so good for me,” she whispers. I feel this dizzy, feverish lurch all over, because she’s wrong, there’s nothing good about me right now, but I’m sweating and shaking and hard and her reassurance is all I want in the entire world.

She is my entire world, right now. She has me at her mercy; I’m completely vulnerable. So if she thinks I’m doing a good job, well, that’s the only thing that matters.

I bite my lip, trying to hold myself together as she licks my cock, up and around the head, and her tongue is soft and wet and perfect. Then she’s swallowing me down, and that hot suction enveloping me is one of the best things I’ve ever fucking felt. She hums. I bite my lip harder, and I thought the pain would cut through the pleasure but instead they’re getting all tangled together, it’s all just sensation lashing through my guts, bright and sharp.

She’s looking up at me again. I lick my lips, half-prepared to beg, before I remember that I’m supposed to be quiet. I can barely suppress a whimper.

She gets her mouth on me. I almost sob with relief, it feels so good. She draws it out, sucking inch by inch, and when she scratches me again I barely feel it. My heart’s pounding and my dick’s throbbing and my entire fucking universe centers on her and her silky-wet mouth. She slaps the burning heat of the scratches, a new sort of sting on the already-raw skin, and ohgodohgodohgod I will control myself, I will be good for her, I can. She moans around me, sucks harder, and I’m gripping the headboard so tight I’m afraid it’ll break.

The only thought I have room for is that I need to behave. It’s all I can think about. It chases me out of my own head, centers me back in my skin, makes life a little simpler.

I feel her pull off and I have to blink up at the ceiling for a moment. I can’t fucking look her in the eye right now. I can’t explain what’s happening in my chest, why I feel so goddamn vulnerable, it’s just… it’s terrifying, lying here waiting for her to decide what she’s going to do to me next.

“I think you deserve a reward,” she says. “For being so good. Would you like that?”

God, I’m so fucking relieved to hear the words, I feel sick with it. I just want to make her feel good. I just want to take care of her.

“You can beg,” she says, soft and breathy, and I do. I don’t even know what spills out of my mouth. I’d tell her anything at this point, promise her anything, do anything, as long as she keeps looking at me like that.

She straddles my chest, comes forward on her knees until I’m surrounded by the smell of her, and the way she’s leaning over me all I can see is skin, curves, and the way she’s looking down at me with her mouth slack and her eyes hungry. She’s hot and slick on my tongue and I lick her open, taste her, suck greedily until I feel her thighs start to shake. I’m moaning shamelessly, can’t fucking help it. I always tell her how good she tastes, how much I love this, but I don’t have the words to really explain why it gets me going the way it does.

She starts to grind down, just riding my face, and I can feel her getting closer, dripping wet on my lips, and the angle is hell on my neck; if I could drag her down, hold her open, fucking bury my face in her cunt…

She moans my name, and my entire body tenses up, twisting, and my hands are on her hips before I can think about it. I could make her come in a second, if I could just -

She makes this rough anguished sound and I come back to myself. I’m already cursing, fucking furious at myself, but it’s too late. She pulls away.

She’s straddling my chest, looking almost as wrecked as I feel, and I want to beg her to give me another chance. She gets a hand in my hair and pulls hard, stinging, tilting my head back, and I’ve never let anyone put me in this position, never felt so fucking vulnerable in my life as I do now: neck bared, tears pricking at my eyes, so hard I’m fucking dizzy, ready to accept whatever punishment she doles out.

“What did I say?” she snaps, and there’s that fire I love so fucking much.

“You told me not to let go. I’m sorry.”

“That’s right.”

She licks my lower lip, sweet, and then nips at my neck, and my skin’s so flooded with adrenaline that the pain barely registers. She bites down harder, sucks, and then licks it gently. She blows cool air on the bruise and I shiver.

She’s fucking torturing me. She works her way down my neck, tongue and teeth, hot and cold, and my entire fucking body is straining, overwhelmed by sensation, arching into her touch and fucking aching with how much I want her.

“Think you can be good while I ride you?” she asks. I grit my teeth, nodding. “Dean, look at me.”

Christ, she’s perfect. I’m breathing heavy, I’m so hard my cock might explode, but if she wants me to wait, that’s what I’ll do.

She positions herself over my cock, brushes the swollen leaking head of it between her legs, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut and focus on lying still. All I want is to buck up, thrust into her, fuck her until she’s screaming…

“Being so good. So good for me. Think you can wait a little longer?”

I can barely stand it. I nod.

She sinks down, makes that fucking noise in the back of her throat, and my eyes are closed but I know exactly what she looks like: eyelashes fluttering, mouth red, gasping as she stretches and opens up around me. I exhale, long and shuddery.

“You can make noise now. Want to hear you.”

I’m begging before I can even try to hold myself back. My voice sounds completely fucking ragged, hoarse, and I don’t fucking care, I’m so far past caring about anything. She slides down slow, and I can feel every little squeeze, almost too tight around my dick as I fill her up. She moans and melts against me, bare chest pressed to mine, so goddamn soft all over. She’s slick and slippery and I can feel how close she is already.

“You’re going to be good until I come,” she whispers, and the words tickle where her mouth is pressed to my neck. “And after that, I’m all yours.”

My breath catches in my chest like a little sob.

She rolls her hips, body still pressed to mine all the way down, and I love the way it feels. I can feel every velvety inch of her as she squirms against me, grinding down. She’s not putting on a show, riding me hard the way she does when she’s ready to get me off. This is all about her. And as close as I am, as easy as it would be to let go right now, it’s almost better just feeling her shudder against me, clench around me, raw and animalistic and intimate.

She’s got her face tucked into my chest, her breath hot and damp on my skin as she gasps. She works her hips harder, fucking writhing on top of me. I love feeling her lose it. She doesn’t get self-conscious or shy about it, doesn’t hold back, lets me hear it when I’m doing something right, so eager and honest.

I can’t stop telling her how good she feels, but my voice is cracking. The words keep slurring together, turning into moans and curses, as I feel her start to fall apart.

There’s nothing like she way she spasms, head to toe, cunt pulsing around me, as she groans and gives in and comes. She comes hard, suddenly even wetter, dripping on my cock as she shakes through it, and that’s all it takes. I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her closer, and thrust up as hard as I fucking can. I feel it down to my toes. It’s incredible, she’s incredible, and part of me wants to keep fucking her forever, burying myself in her over and over and over like I could lose myself inside her.

The other part of me is already lost. I’m barely clinging to reality, here. I can’t see straight, can’t think straight, all I can do is snap my hips up into the silky heat of her and come so hard I forget which way is up. I arch back, frozen by the intensity of the first pulse, and then I’m fucking shaking, spilling into her, twitching and shouting and seeing stars.

My first conscious thought, when I’m capable of having them again, is that I never fucking want to let her go. She’s dragging her mouth down my jaw, kissing me gently, and she’s fluttering and pulsing around me as I start to go soft inside her, and I never want to move. I rub circles over the soft sweaty skin of her back and try to calm my racing heartbeat.

She goes to get water, and I swallow the lump in my throat as I watch her go.

When she told me she trusted me, I thought she meant… I don’t even know. To give her what she wanted, maybe. To make it good. To respect her limits. To take care of her, after. 

I didn’t realize she meant this.

When I look in the mirror, these days, all I see is the Mark. I see what it makes me do. I see blood on my hands.

She looked at me, that first night, and decided to trust me. She saw me lose control. She lets me tie her down and mark her up and use her, and this is what it feels like for her, every fucking time… and she still, somehow, trusts me. I can’t believe how much she trusts me.

She comes back with water and a washcloth and lotion, and she starts cleaning me up, gentle and quiet. She’s rubbing lotion into all the scratches. I want to tell her not to bother. I’m already covered in blood and scars, what’s a little more damage on top?

Nobody’s looked at me like that in a long fucking time, just… tender, and sweet, like I’m something worth taking care of.

She sees something in me, something that’s making her smile all shy and pretty. She sees something she trusts. She sees something good. And when she looks at me like that, I start to believe it. If she thinks I’m good, somewhere under the Mark and the blood and the scars, maybe I still am.


End file.
